


I've Got My Heroes (And My Heroes Are Dead)

by stardustgirl



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: (Everyone Needs A Hug), (so everyone's a little messed up), (well okay a lot more than a little), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Dialogue, Episode: s02e21-22 Twilight of the Apprentice, Episode: s04e13 A World Between Worlds, Ezra Bridger Has PTSD, Ezra Bridger Needs a Hug, Five Stages of Grief, For Want of a Nail, Force Bond (Star Wars), Grief/Mourning, Hera Syndulla Needs A Hug, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Mentioned Kanan Jarrus, Post-Episode: s04e10 Jedi Night, Post-Episode: s04e13 A World Between Worlds, Pregnant Hera Syndulla, Sabine Wren Needs a Hug, Survivor Guilt, The Dark Side of the Force, The Force, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustgirl/pseuds/stardustgirl
Summary: Ezra doesn't understand what Morai's asking him to do.And, as a result, the whole galaxy starts going downhill.(This was inspired by the Rebels Remembered Panel at SWCC 2019 where Dave said, and I quote, "Palpatine really needed a tether to Ezra to enter the World.”  This idea may/may not have been brewing in my head for around a year now as a result.)
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus, Ezra Bridger & Sabine Wren, Ezra Bridger & Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Hera Syndulla & Sabine Wren, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Illusion" by Foreign Air.
> 
> TW: Referenced/Implied Character Deaths, Asphyxiation (via the Force)

Ezra wakes up cold.

He groans, blinking to see only vague details. Red lights shine along the ceiling, and along what looks like the outline of steps and a door.

His head hurts.

“What...where am I?” he whispers, voice rough.

A wall of memory _slams_ against his shields; Kanan holding back the fire as Hera _screams_ his name and he holds her back with disbelief in his eyes, watching the door of the Sith temple close on himself and Kanan and Chopper as Ahsoka battles Vader and unable to do _anything_ despite watching her die _twice_ and just _knowing_ he had to do something to save Kanan and then—

The darkness.

The darkness which was followed by landing in a heap on cold stone, the Dark Side and blue lightning crackling nearby as a figure turned to him. The lighting turning, too, to him. Then pain. And nothing more.

He sits up, slowly, wincing again. Massaging his temples, he glances around the room—no, cell. It’s a cell.

“Kriff.”

He pushes himself to his feet, a small part of him anxious about the fact that they hadn’t thought to leave him cuffed. He stretches, popping his back, before frowning at the realization that he’s still in the biker scout uniform. The same one he was in in the weird star-wolf-Force-portal thing.

The same one he stole with Sabine.

Swallowing hard, he reaches out with the Force, gasping as he feels anew the hole torn by his broken bond with Kanan. He reaches a hand out to brace himself against the wall, taking in a ragged breath.

_You’re okay. It’s been a couple days. You’ll be fine._

_“I know I can always count on you.”_

Ezra forces his eyes shut, forcing his breaths to even out. _You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay—_

The door opens.

A pair of stormtroopers step in. “Come—“

Ezra has them both knocked unconscious before the first can finish his sentence.

Another pair enters, and Ezra has them slumped on top of the bodies of the first two before they can even get a word in edgewise.

He’s preparing to do it again when two more people step in. These ones, however, _aren’t_ ‘troopers, and that’s what makes him hesitate.

His hesitation, in turn, is what gets him stunned.

A stormtrooper from behind the red-cloaked guards shoots him with a stun bolt before he gets a chance to fight back, and the remaining ‘trooper cuffs him. He tries to focus, tries to wrap his mind around the fact that some weird cultist-looking guys in kriffing _robes,_ of all things, are the ones that distracted him long enough to get himself shot.

After he’s cuffed, hands in front, the ‘trooper drags him to his feet, dragging him up the stairs and into the hall. He can barely move thanks to the stun bolt and collapses entirely when the ‘trooper loosens his grip.

“You two, come carry him!” the ‘trooper calls over his shoulder. He shifts, and Ezra catches sight of more stormtroopers.

A _lot_ more stormtroopers.

Two come forward, taking him from the first ‘trooper and making only marginally more progress in dragging him. He tries to focus on what turns they take, but the stun bolt keeps his thoughts from focusing more than a few seconds at a time.

And the constant, underlying tug on his side of the shattered bond he shares— _shared—_ with his master doesn’t help much, either.

They stop him before a pair of doors, tossing him to the ground. He gasps as his shoulder hits the floor and takes the brunt of the fall, trying not to let them hear him cry out.

“Stim him. The Emperor wanted him coherent.”

_The Emperor?_

Before he can follow that train of thought, his head is tipped to the side and something is injected into his neck. The stim takes effect within a few seconds, but before he can fight back they already have him subdued, and with a blaster at his head. He’d be a fool to even _try_ to use the Force now.

Besides, a part of him is morbidly curious to find out what the kriff the Emperor wants with a street rat-turned Jedi-turned rebel beyond execution.

They pull him to his feet and the doors open. He’s led through, shoved to his knees again.

“Leave us,” a voice says, cold.

His guards leave.

“On your feet, my boy. Come here. I would not like us to start as rivals.”

He rises slowly, wincing. His mouth goes dry as he catches sight of the man before him.

No, the _projection_ before him.

Ezra recognizes the Emperor, of course. He’s seen him on holos as long as he’s been alive, from broadcasted speeches as a youngling to broadcasted executions as a youth. And, most recently, as _someone_ in the weird Force world.

“Where am I?” he asks, cautious. The man smiles. Ezra tries to fight the urge to relax in the presence of the man’s grandfatherly appearance. _It’s just an illusion._

“Coruscant, my boy. The crown jewel of the Emp—“

“Yeah, yeah. ‘The gem of the Empire.’ I’ve heard your speeches.”

The man’s smile falters. Ezra has to fight back a smirk, dropping his gaze to his cuffs. If he can just figure out how to get them off….

“I can bring your teacher, Jarrus, back.”

Ezra’s head whips up at that. “Wh- what?”

The man walks toward him, smiling kindly, and Ezra finds himself struggling to remind himself that the projection is a _monster,_ a _demon,_ even if he currently wears the face of an elderly grandfather. “The portal you entered in the Lothal Temple. It was a...Gateway, of sorts.”

The starry Force world.

“Yeah? And what about it?” he challenges.

The Emperor laughs. “The world within is, in fact, one _between_ worlds. Many things are possible there. Things such as...the return of your master.”

Ezra’s voice shakes. “You’re- you’re lying,” he whispers.

“I am not.”

“You’re _lying!_ ” he shouts, suddenly furious. “You just– you just are _sitting here,_ making _all of us_ suffer and you don’t even– you don’t even _try_ to fix things because you’re a sadistic, greedy old man who just wants to watch everyone suffer so you can sit, unaffected, on a throne made of blo—“

Something grabs Ezra’s windpipe, the grip tight enough he’s gasping for breath in less than a second. He brings his cuffed hands up to his throat, scrabbling at the quickly disappearing air even as he knows it won’t do a thing.

All the while, the Emperor’s projection takes slow, measured steps toward him.

“Sedition and treasonous acts are crimes punishable by death, my boy.” The man smiles, even as Ezra chokes. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

When Ezra doesn’t react beyond gasping the man frowns, and the grip on his throat vanishes. He collapses to his knees, wheezing.

“We will continue this conversation at a later time. I have more important matters than a stubborn child to attend to.” The doors Ezra was dragged in through open again, and a pair of stormtroopers accompanied by a trio of the red-cloaked people files in to surround him. “Think about what I said,” the Emperor says, smiling genially one last time before his projection vanishes.

The ‘troopers pull him to his feet without a word, guiding him with a hard shove between his shoulder blades toward the doors.

As they finally cross the threshold, Ezra shudders.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Needles

When the ‘troopers come to take him the next day—he thinks it’s a new day, at least, though it would probably be more accurate to think of it as the next time he’s taken to see the Emperor—he’s ready, and he has a better plan. He acts the part of a defeated warrior and doesn’t resist as they enter his cell to place binders on him, though he does hold his wrists as far apart as he can manage without arousing their suspicions. It works, and even the weird red guys in the corridor they lead him out to don’t make a comment.

He waits until they’re out of the detention block, heading into the repulsorlift at the end of the hall. When the doors slide shut, locking him in with three ‘troopers and two of the red guys, he fights back a smile and enacts his plan.

He slides his hands out of the binders, thankful—for the first time—that they’d been slightly strained for supplies on Mandalore and later Lothal and he’d lost weight as a result of the reduced rations. He splays his hands out, knocking two of the ‘troopers to the wall hard enough to knock them out before moving to the last one. He’s already slammed the emergency call button on the ‘lift, but it’s not a big deal. Ezra can just stop the ‘lift in a minute anyway.

That ‘trooper gets thrown against the ceiling and knocked out, and the red guys get slammed into each other and knocked out, too. Smiling and dusting his hands off, he hits the emergency stop button. The ‘lift grinds to a halt in the shaft and he braces himself against the wall. When it finally settles, he turns his gaze up to the maintenance access opening in the ceiling.

 _“It’s a ventilation shaft. It’s what you_ do _.”_

_“If Vizago can fool Empire, Jedi can climb into shaft.”_

He pushes away the memories of Sabine and Vizago and that one blessed victory on the crawler, turning his attention back to the ceiling. He thrusts a hand out, unlatching the maintenance access opening with the Force before pushing the hatch all the way open. He jumps, using the Force to assist himself slightly so he can catch the ledge. Ezra pulls the rest of himself up with a grunt, relatching the hatch. Rising, he stretches as he studies the ‘lift shaft above him.

_He said you’re on Coruscant. The palace, maybe? No. He wouldn’t be that careless. Underground, in some jail, probably. So if you just go straight up, you should get to the main level, and there should be a hangar there you can steal a transport from. Then you can steal intel, too, and go help finish the fight on Lothal._

He starts climbing.

It’s easy, at first, with the Force helping him. But his lack of weapons and the knowledge that he’s quite literally in the heart of enemy territory don’t help his growing anxiety. The Emperor’s presence here is too strong in the Force for him to sense anyone else’s signatures, either, which just adds to his worries.

He pauses on a ledge, taking a moment to center himself and regulate his breathing.

_“Relax. You’re too worried, kiddo. Just take a moment to think about something else. Let the Force flow through you.”_

Thoughts of Kanan incite a wave of grief that washes over him with enough velocity he nearly loses his grip on a support next to the ledge. Swallowing hard, he presses forward.

Finally, he’s close enough to the top he can see it, see the final ledge of ‘lift doors. He allows himself a brief smile and speeds up slightly, excited at the prospect of seeing everyone else again. Who knew that even on Coruscant the Emperor’s stormtroopers would be _this_ incompetent?

And then he hears a grinding noise from below.

He risks a glance down, stomach dropping as he sees the repulsorlift box he’d abandoned quickly rising toward him. Someone must have reactivated it and realized his plan. He should’ve cut the cables when he had the chance.

Ezra pushes those thoughts away, focusing only on getting to the final ledge. His only other option at this point is getting crushed by the ‘lift box, which doesn’t fit into his plans for today.

He climbs faster, adrenaline pushing his aching limbs on as the box below him gains speed. Finally, he reaches the ledge, and pulls himself up.

The box is only five meters below him now.

He uses the Force to pry the doors apart before sliding through, and just in time too. The box rushes to a stop right where he had been only milliseconds before. Ezra allows himself to breathe a sigh of relief before turning to see where his escapade has gotten him.

Only to be faced with a group of bewildered, well-dressed humans in a large room, many holding glasses that look like some kind of alcohol.

_Sithspit._

He laughs nervously, offering a wave and cursing mentally again at the realization that a mind trick won’t work on this many people at once. Still, with his next words, he pushes a sliver of that persuasion toward them. “Uh, hey, I- I’m the maintenance guy, the repulsorlift was down and—”

“Of course it was, I pressed the button!”

He turns at the accented voice to see a man shorter than even him standing beside the control panel for the repulsorlift, a deep frown on his face.

_Kriff._

“Yeah, but there was something up with the, uh, shaft so I was checking it out, so if you’ll just excuse me I’ll go and—”

“I do not believe that that is the best decision, Commander.”

He freezes at the voice, despite his mind yelling at him to leave. The shell-shocked crowd parts for a man to walk through.

A man Ezra hates with his whole being.

Tarkin passes his cup off to a droid, raising an eyebrow as he approaches.

_Run. If you run fast enough, you can still—_

“You see, if we were to lose our...asset, then more drastic measures against the Rebellion might have to be taken. More... _permanent_ measures.”

He doesn’t like the way that Tarkin’s eyes are glinting as he approaches Ezra. He should run. He should really, really run.

“You can’t do anything to us without hurting your own people,” he says instead of running.

“Protocol 13 exists for a reason.” Tarkin shrugs and takes another step closer. Ezra’s reminded of a Loth-cat stalking its prey.

“You don’t even know where we are,” he says, ignoring the way his voice wavers.

“You know, I find it _quite_ surprising that a former street rat is quite the conversationalist when asleep. Even despite being in a cell.”

His blood runs cold at the implied threat of knowledge—knowledge that they must have gotten from _him._ No. No, they can’t- they can’t know where everyone else is, no—

Ezra isn’t thinking straight. In fact, not even close to it. Which is probably why he makes the boldest, and stupidest, decision of his life right then.

He lunges at Tarkin.

He’s able to knock the man to the ground and get a punch in before Tarkin pushes him off, the old man surprisingly strong. The unexpected blow keeps Ezra off his guard long enough for a pair of other Imperials to grab him, pulling his arms behind his back until a group of stormtroopers finally show up and throw him to the ground once more. One injects him with something that makes him immediately feel empty.

Stunned from the foreign sensation, he doesn’t fight back as they pull him to his feet, shoving him toward the exit of the room.

“Next time you wish to join a party, rebel, at least _ask_ for an invitation,” Tarkin calls after him.

Ezra doesn’t grant the man with a reaction, only focusing on the way his brain has suddenly become slippery thanks to whatever was in the injection.

And, of course, focusing on his failure.

 _Because you just_ had _to be a martyr._

He exhales quietly, a soft laugh huffing out with it. Maybe he’s more like Kanan than he thought. Or maybe martyrdom is just something that comes innately to all Force users, just like it had to Ahsoka, too.

“What’s so funny?” a ‘trooper snaps.

“Nothing,” he says, and he’s right.

It’s not so much a vain attempt at humor as it is a vain attempt at justifying his stupid desire to go out in a way to ensure permanent remembrance.

And apparently, only _real_ Jedi, like Kanan, are good at that. Not Padawan failures like himself.

_I’m sorry I let you down, Kanan._

He’d let Dume and the rest of the Loth-wolves down, too, he knows. But he has enough guilt for today. And besides, maybe...maybe Sabine had been successful. She was _Sabine,_ after all. She could do anything.

She could do everything he couldn’t.

And that would have to be enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Electroshock Torture, Hypothetical Threat of Asphyxiation

They can do absolutely nothing without Ezra, and it drives Sabine insane.

He’s off...somewhere, meanwhile she, Hera, Zeb, and Chopper have been stuck at the dig site. Everyone had been ready to leave, sure Ezra would catch up with them, until Sabine had taken a second glance at the mural.

The hands had moved.

It was open, sure, but the wolves had stopped moving after Ezra went through so she couldn’t follow him. Maybe it was some Jedi thing. She doesn’t know.

All she knows is that very soon after Chopper had flipped the command center to give them an opportunity to escape, the hands had moved again.

And this time, Ezra wouldn’t be coming back out.

They’ve been camped along the ridge for a couple of days now, and every day Sabine can nearly _feel_ the Empire’s creep toward them getting steadily nearer. She swallows, hard, and refocuses the macrobinoculars she “borrowed” off a scout trooper, scanning the camp again. They’ve righted the command center by now, though she’s only seen Hydan a couple of times since. Maybe he’s injured. Maybe he’s even _dead._

_Knowing your luck, he isn’t._

Sabine sighs; she knows she’s right. He isn’t dead, and he won’t be if a man practically as old as a fossil like him is out on a _field excursion_ and isn’t dead because of that already.

Seeing nothing new going on, she turns and sneaks back toward the rocky outcropping the _Ghost_ crew—or what remains of them, at least—have been camping out under since becoming stranded with the departure of the wolves. They should steal one of the transports already, she knows. The part of her that’s pure _cuyan_ whispers that they should have stolen it days ago, that they should already be back at the base.

The _verburyc_ part of her whispers that they should stay, and find her brother. After all, _aliit ori’shya tal’din._

And Ezra is just as much a part of that family as the rest of them.

She takes a seat on the ground beside where Hera’s cleaning her blaster—for the third time in as many days—as Chopper and Zeb head out, the latter shooting her a hopeful glance. Sabine shakes her head, trying to ignore the dismal droop of the Lasat’s ears at her reaction before they go to take her place on watch.

“Well?”

She glances up at Hera, rubbing an eye before moving to take apart one of her own blasters and clean it. “Nothing. They’re proceeding on as normal. It’s like...it’s like they don’t even _know_ he’s gone. Like they still think that we have a Jedi and they don’t.”

“Maybe they do. I’d rather them underestimate us, sure, but any time we can buy for Ryder’s group is worth it.” Hera screws the collimator off her blaster and gives it a once-over before starting to scrub at it, and Sabine nods absently.

“Sure, yeah. I mean...I’m _glad_ we have that time, and they have that time, don’t get me wrong. I just...never mind.”

Hera nods in thought. “It’s...always hard when people are gone, Sabine.”

“He’s not dead,” she whispers.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant...you can be gone, physically irretrievable, without being _gone,_ you know? Ezra’s...Ezra’s not _gone._ He’s just...missing. Just absent. And it’s not the first time. He’s been like this before, after Ahsoka, remember?”

She nods. “He was still _there,_ though. Not physically gone. And Kanan—”

Hera’s face contorts in grief and Sabine bites her lip, regretting the mention of their other Jedi.

“Kanan was gone that time, too,” Sabine finally finishes after a moment.

Hera inhales, the blaster pieces all but forgotten.

“He was.”

They’re both silent for a moment, before Hera finally speaks up.

“Only this time...this time we can’t get him back. But Ezra….”

Ezra isn’t _taab’echaaj’la._

Ezra’s just missing.

And it’s up to them to find the pieces of why, and _where._

_“It’s a—”_

_“—pathway between all time and space. He who controls it controls the universe.”_

Hydan’s words chill her more than they did that night, and she chews at her lip absently.

_Don’t worry Ezra. We’ll find you._

_I promise._

* * *

Ezra comes awake all at once, breath catching as he feels his restraints.

No.

No no no no nooo—

“Ready to cooperate, rebel scum?”

He turns his head—not in an easy feat with his restraints—to see a ‘trooper approaching from the corner of his vision. “Kriff off,” he growls in reply.

The stormtrooper, however, merely turns his comm on. “The kid’s awake. You want me to stun him, sir?”

“ _He can wait another moment._ ”

Ezra’s blood turns to ice at the voice as memories from the previous day start to come back. Tarkin’s implication that he had somehow talked in his sleep and revealed the location of Ryder’s group or, even worse, the group on Yavin. And that was all _without_ touching on the reality that that meant he must have relaxed enough in the cell _to_ talk in his sleep, which was downright _weird_ either way.

 _You’re a known rebel and Jedi. You passed the threshold for “downright weird” a_ long _time ago._

Fair. But still. That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

 _Priorities, Bridger. You’re strapped to a_ torture table, _for kriff’s sakes! Focus on_ that!

Also fair. He needs to get out, now, before they can get anything out of him.

He turns to the ‘trooper. “You will unlock these restraints and the door and leave.”

The man _laughs._ “What?”

“You will unlock the—”

The door opens and a silhouetted figure walks through. “I assumed that you would know when the Force has been taken from you, my boy.”

At the voice, goosebumps rise along his arms despite the ugly orange of the long-sleeved prisoner uniform they’d given him after his incident yesterday. He unconsciously shrinks back against the table, swallowing hard.

“Why?”

The bravado he mustered seconds ago for the single word falters in the face of the man before him. “You may go.” The stormtrooper leaves without a second thought and with him, Ezra catches sight of a couple of the red-robed guys following suit. Somehow, that doesn’t reassure him in the slightest.

He swallows and tries again. “Why did- why did you take it?”

The man chuckles quietly. “You remember your little act with the repulsorlift, of course?”

Ezra doesn’t say anything, only watching as Sidious moves closer.

“I could not have you doing that again.”

“If you let me go, I won’t.”

The Sith Lord snorts derisively. “My dear boy, I should have thought that you would have the common sense to see that you are _far_ too important to attend parties with mere _politicians._ You are destined for _much_ greater things.”

“Like being the posterboy of how much better the Rebellion is?”

The Sith Lord is not amused. Ezra, however, honestly thinks it’s one of his better quips. And if he wasn’t already in danger of strangulation, he probably would laugh.

Unfortunately, he _is_ in danger of strangulation, and he really doesn’t want to add to that.

“You would be wise to watch your tongue, Ez—”

“And? What are you going to do if I _don’t?_ You still haven’t told me why—”

“You were brought here to be given an _opportunity,_ boy, unlike _many_ others like you. Do _not_ mistake my lenience for mercy.”

“Isn’t that what you just _said_ you were giving m—”

A flash of electricity blinds him before pain _erupts_ in his bones and he _screams._ It feels like hours when it stops, though it must have been mere seconds since it started. He slumps forward in his restraints, vision swimming as his breath catches.

“Do you understand now, my boy? You are being given an _opportunity._ You should be _grateful._ ”

Ezra only nods jerkily, swallowing hard.

“Now. You want your master, Kanan Jarrus, back, yes?”

He swallows again, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah.”

Sidious smiles. “Good.”

The simple answer unnerves him far more than any nefarious explanation of the Sith’s scheming, and Ezra can’t help but shudder. Still, though….

_If I could bring Kanan back, we could put an end to this war._

No. He knows he can’t—that even both of them _together_ can’t. Vader and Sidious, together, are far, _far_ stronger. And even if Master Kenobi _could_ be convinced to help….No. There’s no getting out of this. Not the easy way, at least.

“I won’t bring him back.”

Sidious is silent.

Ezra swallows, hard, and keeps his gaze as steady as he can. “I’m not- I’m not going to mess with the Force like that. That’s not how the Force...that’s not how the Force _should_ be used. Just because you _can_ do something doesn’t mean you _should—_ ”

The lightning hits him again and Ezra screams, back arching as he convulses until finally it stops. He barely starts to slump forward when another round hits him.

It continues like that, round after round with small breaks in between, until Ezra’s barely conscious. He barely notices when the shocks stop and he’s fallen all the way forward against the restraints, chest empty without the Force.

“Listen to me, Ezra. If you would like to save your master, and Tano, and all the rest of your rebel friends, you _will_ take this opportunity to help me reopen the Lothal Temple. Is that clear?”

He wheezes out what might be an answer, or what might be just another breath, and either way, it’s apparently enough. Sidious stares at him a moment longer before turning to leave, and Ezra allows himself to fade into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations
> 
> cuyan = survival  
> verburyc = loyal  
> aliit ori’shya tal’din = “family is more than blood”  
> taab’echaaj’la = marching far away / dead


End file.
